Broke Fan Blues

A Poem

Photo by euralíz bravo on Unsplash

My children have been born and have grown with their mother oscillating off-kilter in the depths of depression and sometimes psychosis.

Only some shimmers of reflections of lost light can be seen for a second, maybe less.

I crush my face bones underneath of my fists.

I pinch my skin until the blood comes.

I hold the flame a little too close for a little too long.

I don’t even know why I hate this person.

I used to be so beautiful.

I am now just this thorny shell.

Which version of my face will they remember; and will they even want to?

After I’m gone.